


the book of love

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>three verses, three ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	the book of love

**Author's Note:**

> so, yes, some drabble-type things spawned from a song of the same name. written sort of on a whim, so maybe a little silly, definitely a lot sappy and fluffy. will probably rot your teeth a bit ;p

_The book of love is long and boring,  
No one can lift the damn thing.  
It’s full of charts and facts and figures  
And instructions for dancing.  
But I love it when you read to me,  
And you can read me anything._

“Really?” Nino says, half amused and half incredulous. “Are you kidding me with this?”

Ohno doesn’t look up from his sizzling pan of fried rice, but the vaguely wounded—or maybe embarrassed—expression on his face is easy to see.

“You’re the one who’s always complaining about how I don’t contribute enough to this relationship,” he mutters. “I just thought it would…be interesting.”

Nino marches across the kitchen with the book he just found thrown casually on the coffee table and shoves it under Ohno’s nose.

“The _Kama Sutra_? Really, Oh-chan, you have so little faith in my creativity?”

“No!” Ohno protests immediately, before he sees Nino’s teasing smirk. He turns back to his cooking with a scowl. Nino just laughs and drapes himself across Ohno’s back, hooking his chin over Ohno’s shoulder and sliding his arms around Ohno’s chest to flip absently through the book.

“Well, at least the pictures are—wait a minute, is that two _dudes_? You got us a gay _Kama Sutra_? Where did you even…?”

Ohno’s reply is a noncommittal grunt. Nino just laughs again.

“I’m sorry, I take it back—this is a _very_ good contribution.” Nino gives Ohno a brief squeeze, and he can just see the little smile forming at the corner of Ohno’s mouth. After a moment of quiet, Ohno glances down at the page Nino is perusing.

“What is _that_?”

“Apparently it’s called ‘The Tidal Wave’.” A beat. “Wanna try it?”

Ohno thinks about this for a moment.

“Dinner first,” he decides.

_The book of love has music in it,  
In fact that’s where music comes from.  
Some of it’s just transcendental,  
Some of it’s just really dumb.  
But I love it when you sing to me,  
And you can sing me anything._

Ohno is stubborn.

Nino both loves and hates this—loves the cute little pout Ohno gets when he’s being bullheaded, but hates when this only ends up getting Ohno in trouble.

Like today. Ohno is sick. He’s been sick, coughing through every single recording they’ve done today, and keeping the talking to a minimum, which for Leader means he barely says two words together for almost eight hours. As they are leaving the green room before the filming for VS, Nino catches Jun’s eye, knowing the younger man will be his best ally. After a moment, Jun gives a quick nod of understanding—win as fast as possible, so Leader can go home.

After a rocky start, they crush the giggly team of female newscasters in the last few rounds. As soon as the cameras switch off, Nino is herding Ohno into the dressing room, through wardrobe, and straight into the back of a cab. Through it all, Leader just looks vaguely bemused, and once the taxi pulls away from the curb, he slumps over onto Nino’s shoulder gratefully.

Once they’re at Nino’s apartment, Nino bullies Ohno into taking some medicine and getting straight into bed. The older man looks like he’s asleep before he’s even laid down, but when Nino rises to go after tucking him in, Ohno’s hand darts out from under the covers to grab Nino’s wrist.

“Stay?” 

His voice is so small and ragged, and his eyes don’t even open. With a sigh, Nino sinks back down next to Ohno on the bed.

“You should sleep,” Nino admonishes softly. After very little mental debate, he gives in to the desire to brush Ohno’s hair away from his face.

“Can’t,” Ohno says, followed by a little cough. He’s breathing deeply, but there’s a gravelly, scratchy rattle with each breath. After a few moments, his grip on Nino’s wrist tightens just a little, and he asks: “Sing to me?”

“What are you, five-years-old?” Nino complains, just missing a whine. But Ohno just makes a sad little whimpering sound, and Nino sighs again before giving in.

He starts with something familiar, lullabies he only remembers half the words to and hums the rest. When he’s run out of those, he sings whatever pop ballads come immediately to mind, and some of the slower-paced Arashi tunes he can recall off the top of his head.

Only later, when he’s sure Ohno really is finally asleep, does he sing his own songs.

He sings the ones Ohno knows—the ones everyone knows—first, and then, slowly, so softly, he starts to sing the rest. Songs he’s never recorded, some he’s never even had the nerve to put down on paper, a million songs about love that grows so slowly you only realize it’s there too late, about love so strong you want to let go for how your chest aches with it, about finding someone you love so much it scares you. And then there are songs for the feeling of electricity in that first, almost accidental kiss, for the roar in your ears, and the beating of your heart, and then the rush and the climb and the spiraling fall that comes after. Songs for hurried, secret corners, and songs for long, lazy afternoons. Songs for the times it almost ended, and songs for the moments of bone-deep surety that it could last a lifetime.

When he’s finally out of words, Nino’s throat is aching, maybe almost as much as Ohno’s, and he rubs a hand down his neck ruefully. 

But it’s worth it, Nino thinks, just to see the little smile on Ohno’s face as he sleeps.

_The book of love is long and boring,  
And it was written long ago.  
It’s full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes  
And things we're all too young to know.  
But I love it when you give me things,  
And you should give me wedding rings_

The bottom drawer of Nino’s dresser is a shrine to Ohno Satoshi The Romantic.

It is full, almost to bursting. with all the things Ohno gives him that he doesn’t really need, but can’t stand to throw away. These are never things that Ohno gives to Nino outright—the little packages will turn up on his dressing table when he’s not looking, or be waiting for him in the mail slot after a long location shoot, or they’ll be jammed into the toe of a wayward sock that Nino had thought he’d lost.

Mostly, they are silly, or even stupid. Nino loves every single one.

The cards take up the most room—some store bought, with ridiculous, sappy poems in them, some handmade and covered in Ohno’s unique, wavering scrawls and sketches. There are several decks of cards in the drawer, but they have things like dinosaurs or Pokemon on them, and Nino would never be caught dead using them. There are also erasers shaped like pastries, scented candles shaped like flowers, and paperclips shaped like ice cream cones. There is a picture frame made of interlaced hearts, full of snapshots of the two of them, rejects from a seaside photoshoot. There is a family of little plush bunnies with angry faces, and hearts tied around their necks that started life as prizes in a UFO catcher. A set of blue and yellow salt and pepper shakers, sticker pages from the backs of coloring books, a knit cap that says “Scenic Uzbekistan”, and a T-shirt that says “I ♥ LA”.

The latest edition to the drawer is something Nino keeps there not because he wants to hide it, but because he never wants to lose it. He found it in a plastic bag inside his economy-sized tub of Georgia Coffee. He has no idea how long it was in there before he discovered it, as it was half-buried in coffee grounds when he scooped it out. He still hasn’t told Ohno that he found it. He wonders if he ever will.

For now, it’s perched in the middle of the drawer on top of a box of decorative soaps and a minature ukulele.

A small, black velvet box. With a ring inside.


End file.
